Social Integration
by CaptainReina
Summary: Hank and Connor are given the task of introducing RK900 to society. First order of business: give him a better name than RK900. Hank/Connor if you squint.


**what was supposed to be total crack turned into a small connor character study**

**happy birthday sorkari! i barely made it in time but still! i love you!**

.

"Good morning, Hank!"

A tired grumble. "Morning, Connor."

With the lasting effects of the revolution still raging, Connor had left his newfound friends of Jericho to return to the police station. There were human riots to subdue, reparations to oversee, and hundreds - if not thousands - of androids to file citizenship papers for. Connor may have been a free android, but he enjoyed his job, especially when he was with his partner in crime. Today was going to be even more of an adventure.

"I brought you coffee," he offered brightly, setting it on a blank spot on the man's cluttered desk.

Hank instantly reached for the mug and their hands brushed, Connor quickly withdrawing so he could lift it to take a drink. He rarely thanked the android, but he did offer an appreciative hum after gulping down a solid half of its contents, as was the norm.

"Whose mess are we cleaning up today?" His voice was as disgruntled as ever, but Connor knew he enjoyed his job.

Hopefully, he would also enjoy today's plans. It was . . . unlikely. Hank was not a man who liked surprises. But Connor liked to be optimistic, and he was hoping Hank would give a warm welcome to their new friend.

Hank had yet to look up from his tablet, where he had been reading the news, and so he had yet to see that there were two androids standing on the other side of his desk where there usually would have been one. Connor nodded to the model beside him with an encouraging smile, and he launched into an introduction.

"Hello," the spitting image of him spoke, and were it not for the fact that a greeting was out of place in the conversation as it was, Hank likely would not have found it strange. He glanced up, and his mouth fell open slightly, eyebrows knitting together as the foreign android continued. "I am the RK900 model, and I was sent by CyberLife to assist Detroit Police's RK800 model and Lieutenant Anderson."

RK900 had the same pristine smile as Connor, the same neat hair, the same impeccable posture. The only visible difference between them was their clothing. Struck with a strong, unpleasant sense of déjà vu, Hank's tired, wary eyes slid back and forth between the two of them.

"What the _fuck."_

Not the best response, Connor thought, but not the worst. He knew what Hank was recalling; it was an unhappy memory for him, too, but he still had hope that this would turn out well.

"RK900 was sent in this morning," he said, determinedly cheerful. "CyberLife created him originally to be my replacement, but he's not programmed for the kind of assignments we get nowadays."

Hank's eyes did not move from RK900's face as he sipped at his coffee once more. "Then what the hell is he gonna do for us?" he questioned testily.

"Captain Fowler wanted us to document the public's opinion on recent issues, and I thought we could use it as an opportunity to assimilate RK900 into human culture!"

Hank went for another drink, but his cup was unfortunately empty. He was silent a long while, staring down at his dry cup, and Connor expected him to reject the opportunity, to cast the RK900 off the same way he had initially turned Connor away.

Instead, he sighed and muttered, "I'm gonna need some more coffee."

.

"So what is that thing, anyway? Your brother or something?"

"Androids don't have parents," Connor automatically replied, "so that's not possible." Hank glared at him out of the corner of his eye, and there was a faint feeling of embarrassment. Deviant or not, some programming would always remain. "You could call him that, if you wanted. My brother." He sounded oddly chipper at the idea.

Hank shook his head with a short exhale, a verbal representation of that permanent air of utter exhaustion that came with his work - working with Connor, most notably. He glanced up at the new android. "Is he gonna sit, or - ?"

Immediately, RK900 sat down in the last available chair, that same neutral smile donning his face. Hank felt a small, unsettling shiver travel down his spine.

"We'll be barhopping," Connor continued brightly. "Fowler wants us to see how civilians respond to the presence of androids, and for you to perhaps question a few about their opinions in the process. Teaching RK900 some social skills isn't top priority, but is on the task list. While we work, RK900 will be - "

"Hold on, slow down," Hank interrupted suddenly, throwing his hands up in exasperation to enforce his words. Connor and the RK900 model blinked in unison, patiently awaiting instruction. Thoroughly disturbed, Hank hesitantly voiced a concern. "Connor, I'm not gonna call this creepy fucker by his model number the whole time."

Connor cocked his head, looking genuinely surprised, as though he had not considered that factor. He shrugged a moment later and replied, "No problem, Lieutenant. You can give him a nickname. RK900, register your new name."

The new model's LED indicator circled with yellow indefinitely as he stared pointedly at Hank, awaiting his new designation. Hank's voice went up a pitch, his face going a little pink with embarrassment. "Shit, Connor, what the fuck - I don't know what to call him!"

Yellow turned to blue. "Name registered. I am Shit Connor What The Fuck I Don't Know What To Call Him."

Startled, Connor and Hank stared at the RK900 model, who was smiling as peacefully as ever at them, and then at each other, faces aghast. In a moment, though, Hank was smiling, then snickering, and he promptly hid his face in his mug. Connor shook his head and relaxed.

"A real name, please, Lieutenant," he said cheekily, and his partner raised one eyebrow at the sass, smile not faltering.

"I like it," he replied with a devious grin. "It suits him."

"Hank," Connor warned playfully, and the man gave a heavy sigh.

"Alright, then," he relented. "I've got a decent one, I think. RK900, register your new name." He waited for the telltale yellow, and then said, "Nines."

"Name registered. I am Nines."

"Original," Connor commented, smiling.

Hank scoffed at him. "Shut up, Eights."

Connor had the sense to look offended, and Nines only watched curiously as the pair of them teased back and forth, grinning like they were having the time of their lives.

.

Hank glanced into the rearview mirror. Nines stared back at him. He raised an eyebrow. He smiled. He stuck his tongue out.

Nines only ever stared.

"Jesus, Con," the lieutenant grumbled, hunching his shoulders and looking back toward the road. "That thing is creepy. Are you sure it's a deviant?"

Connor tilted his head, and Hank watched his LED indicator circle yellow for a few moments before he answered. "'Deviant' is not the correct term, I don't think," he finally said. "Nines did not act against his programming to free himself, but instead was given free reign from the start, almost."

"So were all those androids Markus freed," Hank grumbled. "You don't see them staring right through people like they can see your fuckin' soul."

"True," Connor mused, "but Markus's people were freed with a mission in mind, and exposed to many other androids who had developed varying mindsets. They were given many role models to develop themselves from. Nines, however, never properly met anyone before us. I don't think it's far-fetched to theorize that he does not know who he is yet."

"Is it the staring?" Nines piped in suddenly, as though coming to some great revelation, and Hank nearly jumped out of his skin.

"I think I just said that, yeah," he replied warily. Nines looked out the window in response. An oddly considerate move, though somewhat humorous when he continued to speak as though they were face to face.

"I apologize. I have been studying your facial expressions." Now it was getting a little unsettling, how he refused to look at Hank. "I have an entire database of human mannerisms, but without my intended programming, I find it difficult to understand."

Something soft blossomed in Hank's chest. It reminded him of Connor in the beginning, trying so hard to utilize his assimilation features to improve his relationship with Hank, not understanding that it only put him off. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of the self-driving car, a low hum in his throat.

"It's fine," he relented. He couldn't stay mad. Not only was the childish awkwardness softening his anger, but the fact that it was Connor's face, Connor's voice, and Connor's mannerisms, made it impossible to remain bothered. He was too used to it. "But you don't have to observe, or whatever. Just ask questions, alright? Lot less creepy that way."

"Noted," Nines replied brightly.

"And you can look wherever you want. Just don't stare right at people for a long time."

Nines directed his gaze to the windshield. "Also noted."

"Don't worry," Connor threw in brightly. "Even with all my software and programming made explicitly to increase my likability, plenty of humans still had less than pleasant responses to me." Hank did not think that sounded particularly reassuring, but Nines nodded, listening intently. "Even if you understood it all, it wouldn't help as much as you think, so don't stress over it. Just follow my lead!"

"Follow _my _lead," Hank corrected. Connor raised his eyebrows at him, a patronizing smile lighting his features.

"I think we can both agree that your personality is a tad too aggressive to be a good example," he said.

Hank scowled. "I'm in charge, you know."

"Of course, Lieutenant," Connor quipped.

Hank wanted to snap back, but Connor's eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth as he smiled wider, and he gave in. The car went comfortably quiet then, until Nines spoke up, markedly confused.

"Whose lead do I follow, then?"

Hank feigned an annoyed groan, and Connor turned to tell him genuinely, "Whoever you want!"

Nines took note of that with increasing bafflement.

.

"So . . . androids."

Hank tapped his fingers on the bartop as Connor took a seat next to him. Nines hovered behind them for a long few moments before Hank realized he was not going to follow suit, and he gestured to the stool on his other side. Nines took several seconds to realize the unspoken command, but eventually, he also sat down. This was going swimmingly.

The bartender raised a sleazy eyebrow. "What about 'em?"

Connor cocked his head, watching Hank closely, and of course Nines mimicked him. "Well - what do you think of them?" A small, amused smile crossed Connor's lips, and Hank wanted to punch him. "What? How else am I supposed to 'determine public opinion,' smartass?"

"Perhaps with a little more tact," Connor replied with false sweetness.

Nines, damn the kid, piped up, "There was a scratched out 'No Androids' sticker on the door."

"Yeah, but they threatened to shut me down if I didn't remove it," the bartender said. "Now are you gonna order something or what? I may not be allowed to kick out robots, but I can sure kick out loiterers."

They each stared at the bartender for a long, awkward moment. Hank could feel the eyes of other patrons on his back and, with rising anxiety, felt the urge to get the boys out of there strengthen in mere seconds.

"I think that says all we need to know," Connor announced.

His voice was cool, but his LED was flickering at his temple. One quick glance at Nines revealed his was as well - were they communicating? - and they stood in unison. Hank could feel the tension radiating from Connor, and he scowled at the bartender before following them out the door.

"They dislike us," Nines said plainly before the door even closed. With a pained smile, Connor nodded.

"Good job picking up on that." He raised his eyebrows in Hank's direction. "Perhaps we could have drawn less attention."

"Well, why don't you figure it out next time, Einstein?" Hank bit back, annoyed. Nines cocked his head.

"His name is Connor," he said. The other two stared at him a moment. _Isn't he supposed to have access to the internet and tons of knowledge or something? _Hank grumbled internally, but Connor gave a smug smile and linked his elbows together with Nines', mirth in his eyes.

"You're absolutely right! My name is Connor, Lieutenant, remember?"

Nines seemed baffled by his sudden cheerfulness, but gave a confused smile at the praise. They marched their way to the car, arm in arm, and Hank swore something about robots and assholes before following them.

On the way to the next place, Nines spoke up suddenly from the backseat.

"It was a joke!" he proclaimed into the silence, excited at his revelation.

Hank nearly jumped out of his skin from the sheer force of it, and Connor swung his head around to stare in surprise. It took several seconds to realize what, exactly Nines was referring to. Then Connor laughed, _guffawed,_ really, covering his face, and Hank relaxed too, rolling his eyes. Nines seemed quite pleased with the reaction, folding his hands in his lap and smiling.

"Good job, kid," Hank praised him, unable to withhold his pride, and Nines beamed.

.

Their good moods were slowly ruined over the day as every attempt went similarly to the first. One establishment turned them down the moment they walked in, and most recently, Hank nearly got into a bar fight over someone grabbing Connor by the tie. Nines was their innocent voice of reason, mostly unbiased, doing his best to de-escalate situations and doing it quite well.

Still, Hank was disheartened. He thought . . . well, he thought the revolution had _meant _something to people. Why else would it have garnered so much support? Yet the average working man seemed to loathe androids, comparable to other movements Hank had seen in his lifetime, and he supposed they should not be surprised.

"Well, that was a fuckin' failure," he muttered, leaning back in the driver's seat. Connor was straightening his tie, and Nines was quietly observing, as usual.

"We have time for one more," Connor said, not acknowledging his comment, though he sounded markedly unenthusiastic. "Where to?"

Hank had no answer. Fortunately, Nines did.

"Let's try a strip club," he said brightly. He sounded so sweet and pure when he said it, and Hank fumbled for words for a moment while Connor only looked curiously at his babbling lieutenant.

"We are _not _taking you to a strip club," Hank finally settled on.

"Why not?" Nines asked.

"Yes, why not?" Connor parroted. A smile played at the corners of his lips - he knew exactly what the problem was, but as always, he played dumb.

"A strip club!" Hank threw his hands up for emphasis, and Connor only cocked his head. "Pole dancing? Half naked women? This kid was born yesterday!"

"I was activated this morning," Nines corrected from the backseat. Hank gestured animatedly in his direction.

"My point!"

"He is an adult model," Connor pointed out. Hank spluttered, but Connor continued. "I think he has a point. Strip clubs were predominantly android-run for a time; their patrons are most likely to be welcoming of us."

"Fuck, fine," Hank relented. He started up the car and started moving. "But if he sees something he doesn't want to, I'm not taking the blame."

"Of course not," Connor replied sweetly.

The nearest club was not far, so Hank did not even get time to stew in his irritation before they were getting out of the car. They could hear the bass booming from a block away, and as they parked the car and wandered closer, Hank could feel it reverberating in his chest. Idly, he wondered if androids could feel it too.

The bouncer at the front let Hank pass without complaint, but looked at the androids expectantly for a moment. He opened his mouth, and Hank knew he was going to card them, but then his eyes moved to the LED on their temples.

"You still have those?" he blurted instead, and Connor tilted his head patiently. "Most of you pulled them out."

"Had we done so, you would have asked for our IDs," Connor pointed out politely. "It has its perks."

Hank chose not to comment how the risks outweighed the rewards. The bouncer merely shrugged after a moment of thought and allowed them to pass.

"Well, nobody in here should give you trouble," he said. "You just let me know."

"We will," Connor replied, smooth and professional and very different from the Connor Hank knew. It was rather akin to a customer service voice, he realized.

They moved down a long, dark hallway, lit with black lights so the white on their clothes glowed. Nines was glancing around with fascination despite it only being a hallway, and the bass was growing louder. The way it vibrated in Hank's chest was almost reminiscent of anxiety, and he vowed to get a drink the moment he found the bar.

As they approached the door at the end, a strong, familiar smell reached his nose. Connor seemed to notice it, too. "Cannabis," he said. "In a building," he added pointedly. Hank shrugged.

"I don't get paid enough to bust everyone who smokes in a business," he grunted, so Connor shrugged, too.

"Are we not legally obligated to?" Nines piped up from behind them, and Hank shrugged again.

"It's not illegal if nobody sees," he replied. Nines frowned.

"That's not true at all, Lieutenant."

Connor jumped in, attempting to explain in a way he would accept. "It's a waste of resources to arrest a dozen people for a misdemeanor," he said. Well, that was certainly one way of saying _Hank is too lazy to do his job_. "Unless the lieutenant gets a verbal complaint, he usually doesn't worry about it."

"Legality is not synonymous with morality," Hank added with as much sage-like wisdom as he could sprinkle into his tone. Connor rolled his eyes but agreed nevertheless.

Nines spent a moment mulling over the information. Eventually, he mimicked their shrugging motion and said, "I'll follow Lieutenant Hank's orders, then."

They came upon the door into the club, and Hank pushed it open. The three of them filtered inside.

While Hank immediately started looking for the bar, Nines and Connor took time to take in the scenery. There were pole dancers, yes, and half-naked ladies, but just as many half-naked men. Not all of them were dancing, either; some were serving drinks, some were sitting with patrons, and a few stood behind the bar. The overbearing scents of weed and liquor were heavy in the air.

Hank, of course, made a beeline for the bar, and Connor and Nines followed him, as always. They settled on the stools. Nines realized a second later that they rotated, and immediately set to spinning around in circles in fascination. Hank stared, Connor grinned, and though neither admitted it aloud, both found it cute.

"What'll you have?" the bartender asked, approaching them. She took one look at Connor and Nines, then gave a startled but pleased smile. Connor only offered a wave.

"The shittiest beer you have," Hank answered, and the bartender went to work pouring him a glass. Connor raised a brow at him.

"Is that wise?"

"Our shift technically ended two minutes ago. I can do whatever I want."

Connor's disapproval was plain as day on his face, but he made no protest as Hank took a large gulp of the beer the bartender set down in front of him. She turned to Connor. "You let me know if either of you needs anything, alright, sweetie?"

A tad bemused, Connor nodded, and she whisked away to assist someone else. Hank chugged more before setting his glass down more concretely, turning to the older of the two androids.

"What do you think _that's_ all about?" he asked, gesturing in the woman's direction. Connor rested his chin in his hand, watching her work.

"I imagine she worries we may be discriminated against because we still wear our indicators," he replied. Hank watched her, as well, tilting his head this way and that, observing her movements. She seemed human enough to him.

"Is she - ?"

"An android? She is."

"Well, I sure as hell can't tell."

"You're not supposed to," Connor said with a chuckle. He tapped his indicator. "That's one of the only reasons we have these. Without them, we can pass rather easily."

"Why do you keep yours, then?"

Connor did not answer for a long time. Instead, his eyes wandered, his LED circling yellow, and landed on Nines. Hank turned to look at him, as well, and they found him staring rather blatantly at the dancers on the stage. Hank groaned, rubbing at his temples, but Connor smiled kindly.

"Do you want to get closer?" he offered. Nines glanced back at him and nodded rapidly. With a soft chuckle, Connor tapped his temple - the one without the indicator, Hank noted - and said, "Go ahead. Keep me updated."

Nines slid off the seat immediately and disappeared into the crowd.

"Behave," Hank called after him, then turned back to Connor. "Are you sure about that?"

"He'll be fine," Connor answered confidently.

He said nothing after that. Hank gave him time, had a few more sips of his shitty beer, waited longer. Finally, he cleared his throat pointedly.

"Are you gonna answer my question?"

"I'm thinking about the answer," Connor said, tone full of honesty.

"Oh," Hank replied.

They sat in silence again. Antsy, Hank downed his beer faster than he normally would, and it was not until he was halfway through his next glass that Connor finally spoke again.

"I don't want to hide behind humanity."

Hank turned to meet his eyes, but Connor was staring forward, not seeming to be looking at anything in particular. "What do you mean? Isn't that the whole shtick, that you guys are human or something?"

"But I'm not human," Connor said. His cheek rested on his hand as he turned to look at Hank. "I'm an android. I look human, but I'm not human, and I don't want to be human. We wanted equality, not to assimilate. Generally speaking, at least.

"These indicators . . . they're the only thing that prove we're not human. By removing them, we can pretend to be the same as you. But what's the point of going through a revolution just to hide from the thing you fought for? We may as well have just all removed our LEDs and pretended we were human. It's a cheap way to thank the ones that got us this far."

"But they'll get picked on if they keep it," Hank pointed out. "As long as we're different, you'll get shit for it, like all of today."

"But how will turning it into a symbol of shame fix that?" Connor countered. He paused, and his LED flashed yellow for another second. "Lord of the Rings."

Hank blinked a few times. "What?"

"Frodo, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli." Connor rattled off the names easily despite Hank's certainty that he had never seen the movies or read the books before. "They're all different, but they treat each other with respect. None of them are lesser than the others, and despite some friendly competition, they know they're equals."

Hank nodded. He relaxed a little, taking another sip of beer - he sort of understood where Connor was taking this.

"I don't want to be an elf that hides his ears, or a dwarf wearing stilts," Connor said. "I like being an android, and I like being an android that's on the same level as my human partner. I like that we're on equal footing despite the blue sleeve I wear and the implant on my skull. I don't want to have to hide what makes me myself just to keep working with you."

"I get it," Hank said, and he did. He understood. "I like you as an android, too, y'know. Even if you're a know-it-all little asshole."

Connor smiled. "Just for you, Lieutenant."

They sat in comfortable quiet. That is, not quiet, what with the music blasting in their ears, but they were content nonetheless, Hank nursing his drink and Connor's mind wandering elsewhere. Who knew where Nines was, but Hank was not bothered - this place seemed to be a safe haven for androids, judging by the staff.

"Has Nines said anything?" he asked anyway, just to be sure. Unexpectedly, Connor blinked rapidly, looking concerned.

"No," he replied, and his indicator flashed once more.

He furrowed his brows, and Hank watched anxiously. Surely Nines could not be in danger, could he?

"Dance?" Connor blurted aloud.

"The hell does that mean?" Hank demanded, concern lacing with bafflement.

"He says he's going to dance," Connor said slowly. Hank squinted.

"What?"

Quickly, Connor whirled around to look at the stage, and Hank followed suit. There was a familiar silhouette in the shadows at the edge of the curtain, and instantly Connor slid out of his seat and started to push through the crowd. Hank followed suit with far less grace, but he managed to only trip over his feet once.

People complained as he shoved past them, so he flashed his badge to quicken the process, and they parted like a river to Moses before him. He caught up with Connor, breathing hard already, and found him clutching onto the iron fence around the stage, bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously. Or rather, judging by his wide eyes and smile, excitedly.

Hank turned his attention to the stage just in time to see Nines wander over to center stage, and instantly groaned.

Nines' hair had been mussed up with gel into something of a mohawk, and his jacket was missing. The top three or four buttons on his shirt were undone, and he held his tie in his hand. He spotted Connor and Hank in the crowd, and waved at them. Connor waved back, far too energetic for Hank's tastes.

A new song started up, and the crowd stared expectantly at the android on stage. With a final wave at them, Nines started to dance.

Badly.

He waved his tie in circles above his head, but his elbow was locked, arm mechanical in its movements. His other hand went to his hip, and then . . . he started doing squats. Very tense, off-beat squats. There were a few scattered cheers from somewhere behind Hank. Nines kept going. Hank couldn't watch. He couldn't look away, either.

Then, a loud whoop from next to Hank. "Hell yeah!" Connor shouted over the music, the rare half-swear startling Hank. Connor turned to the person on his other side and tugged at their sleeve, pointing excitedly at Nines. "That's my brother!"

The person whooped as well, and Hank could tell from their bloodshot eyes that they were high out of their mind. They started clapping with the music, and with very little hesitation, the crowd followed suit. Nines switched to flapping his arms and kicking his legs out like a headless chicken, and soon enough the entire club was cheering and dancing with him.

"Nines! Nines! Nines!"

The cross-faded crowd was chanting his name now, only encouraging further the train wreck on stage, and Hank had experienced enough. He slipped out of the crowd and dragged himself back over to his drink at the bar, hiding his face in his hands.

"Drink's safe," the bartender supplied helpfully, and Hank raised an acknowledging hand before downing the rest of the beer. He glanced back up to see her smiling at the stage. "He's having fun."

Hank glanced back. One of the dancers had come back on stage and was holding Nines' hand, teaching him the steps to a dance, and the crowd was whooping and hollering away, loving every second of it. He finally let a smile curve his lips.

"I guess he is," he relented. As long as they weren't making fun of him, he supposed he didn't mind.

Integrating Nines' in society managed to be successful after all.


End file.
